


My Name is-

by Cumberbatch Critter (ivelostmyspectacles)



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, M/M, Mentions of Slavery, rather I take the canon and turn it on its head
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 05:02:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6690769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/pseuds/Cumberbatch%20Critter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris and Varania arrived in Kirkwall with nowhere to go. Now, after a year of servitude, it's up to them to make a life here. Taking odd jobs finds to accumulate money for a Deep Roads Expedition, they meet a man named Anso and take on a job that leads to an encounter they are not likely to forget.</p><p> <br/>In other words:<br/>Fenris is the Champion; Hawke is the companion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Name is-

"Something about this is very strange."

"That's a word for it," the dwarf muttered, brushing at a blood stain on his jacket. "A waste of time is another, but, hey, who's complaining?"

"Do you think somebody already took the treasure?"

He hesitated and shook his head from side to side slowly. "No. It's beginning to feel like we've been sent here on purpose." He narrowed his eyes and pushed the heavy wooden door open, stepping out into cool, night air. "Just be on your guard, Varania-"

Even as he said it, there were figures melting from the shadows, fanning out around them. He tensed, falling a step back towards his sister purely on instinct. She did not need him to protect her. He did so, anyway. He would have cursed his sentimentality if only he wasn't so protective of the last remaining member of his family.

"Oh, _fantastic_ ," Varric said.

"We're outnumbered," Varania murmured as she pressed into his side.

"Yes." He reached for Lethendralis. "But we will make it through."

Varania looked at him for a long moment. And then she nodded, reached for her staff. Her fingertips glowed a light blue, her affinity for freezing spells ready to burst forth. "Just like always."

"Just like always," he repeated, and lunged forward into the fray.

It wasn't until he had jerked the blade free of one of the men's chests that he realized the battle inside the old, abandoned building had sapped his strength. He and Varania had been running on fumes, working all of these odd jobs to gather money to go into the Deep Roads with the dwarf and his brother. And as if he wanted to go into the Deep Roads, but if it kept Varania away from the templars and it gave them the coin to procure a better lifestyle, he would do it gladly.

The arrows flying over his head were good, but not reassuring. And even as Varania cast Winter's Grasp and his blade shattered the victim in question, they were outnumbered even still.

They should run and yet? He was _so tired_ of running. Kirkwall was a new place to make his stand and he could not do that by turning tail. But his sister...

Electricity crackled down through the air, standing the hair on the back of his neck up. Varania could not use those types of spells. But the storm spells had hit their intended targets, taking down two of their adversaries at once. The sensation hung in the air afterwards, drawing goosebumps on his skin and a shiver of anxiety down his spine. _Magic._ Magic he did not know, did not recognize, and it tainted the air, choking him, remembering mere flashes of that feeling hanging in the air as he had been younger, with Varania clinging to his arm, crying, fire burning through their city as the sky was lit with spells cast over, and over-

But it was _helping_ for now, not hurting. He forced himself to pull away from the scattered memories and push back into the thick of the battle.

He caught sight of their mysterious person casting their spells, occasionally punctuated with fire and electricity and more than once, a strangely calming wave washed over him, refilling him with a new sense of energy and wiping away pain from the injuries. Just once or twice, the man illuminated by the spells he was casting: dark hair and a beard and spells that flashed too bright in the semi-darkness.

His fingers tightened around his blade. _Mages_ , he thought vehemently, and used the anger to fuel himself for the rest of the battle.

He didn't even remember most of it. The day that Danarius came to town. He remembered the magic, the fire sweeping through the city. He had been young. The blood-thirsty mage - magister, he knew now - had rampaged their encampment for reasons that he still did not know to this day. He had been too young, and his mother had been too slow. She had died with the feel of magic hanging in the air, and he had had Varania on his arm as he ran, and ran, and did not know what to do without a mother, without a home.

He had managed. They had managed.

He had never forgiven mages since, especially after witnessing more of the world and witnessing how quickly mages became obsessed with power. Varania was different. She had lived through it with him. And no, he was not naïve enough to think all mages were like Danarius, but if he was wary? It was not without cause.

He spun on their guest, Lethendralis pointed towards him. "Who are you," he demanded.

"Broody, he helped us," Varric said.

Varania said nothing, fingers clutched white against her staff.

"He's a mage."

"Your sister's a mage."

"I _know_ my sister."

"No ‘thank you’?" The man stepped out of the shadows, holding up his hands. "And after I just saved your lives?" Brown eyes twinkled, an easy smile on his lips, but apprehension in his eyes, anyway.

"Who are you," he repeated. He did not lower his blade.

"Hawke. Garrett Hawke. I'm the one who bribed Anso to direct you here."

"You set us up." He had guessed from the moment that they had been attacked inside the building and found the chest empty. "Why? What do you seek?"

Hawke smiled; it was a genuine smile, one that reached clear up into his eyes. For an instant, his anxiety over mages evaporated. Not entirely. Just enough that his fingers slackened infinitesimally on his blade. He did not trust mages. He did not trust this Hawke. But he didn't seem to be lying. Yet.

"Those people," Hawke gestured to the bodies scattered on the ground, "they've been tracking me for some time. I could have handled them on my own, maybe, but four _is_ better than one."

"All this trouble for one mage?"

Hawke shrugged. "I imagine some people are missing me."

"Did you strike out from home at a young age, desperate to hide your magic to protect your family?" Varric mused. "That'd be a good story."

A dirty look was shot the dwarf's way, from no less than two of their group.

"No, my father and sister had magic, too," Hawke said. "They're dead."

"Oh."

"My brother's Maker-knows-where. We got split up when we ran away. I don't know about him, but these thugs keep coming after _me_. I guess that happens when you leave your master."

"Master?"

Hawke held out his hands. "They wouldn't call themselves that. They would say they were _helping_ us. Just like they wouldn't have called Carver and I slaves, but for servants, we certainly never got paid. Amazing how _some_ people want to exploit mages, even after a Blight."

"A _slave_?" That was... unexpected. Not unheard of, certainly, but somewhat of a surprise nonetheless. "You were a slave."

"Not by textbook definition, but I doubt they're coming after me for my good looks." Hawke paused thoughtfully, cocking his head. "Well, maybe they are."

Varric snorted in laughter and Varania shifted beside him. With a sigh, Lethendralis was finally lowered, although he kept a tight grip on the blade, anyway. "Slavers. _Vishante kaffas._ They got what they deserved."

Even if by some miracle that he and Varania had managed to escape slavery all this time, mostly because of their mother always keeping them on the run, he held no soft spot for slavers. The more that were dead, the better.

"Yeah..." Hawke looked at Varania, and Varric, and back to him. "So I need some more help, which these guys. And you've proven you are capable. I gathered you don't like mages, but I also imagine you don't like slavers, so... Will working with me be a problem?"

"I think if he's trying to get away from those people, then we should-" Varania started, but he held up a hand to silence his sister.

"One moment." He narrowed his eyes at Hawke. "What are you trying to achieve?"

"What?"

"What do you want? Every mage wants something."

Hawke frowned, leaning back on his heels. "Umm... is this an in-general question? I mean, money, a lover, a better staff, robes that don't chaf-" he broke off at the look he was getting, and shrugged. "I mean, that's materialistic, all I really want is to be safe, and protect my mom. She's the only one I have left. I found her again, and I just want to do what I need to to get by. Try to stay out of the slavers way, and the templars, if I can."

"He saved us, brother," Varania murmured. "We don't know that he's like Danarius."

"We don't know that he's not."

"We could use another mage," she said. "I can't do healing spells yet. He can."

And he could not say no to his sister, even after all of these years that they had been on their own. She and Varric were right; Hawke had protected them when he had no reason to. He could have easily just let them die in their exploits to take down the men hunting Hawke.

"Fine."

"Really?" Varric asked. "I mean, I'm all for it, but it doesn't seem like you, Broody."

"Not all mages are Danarius," he said a little stiffly, and sheathed his blade before looking at Hawke. "I will be watching you. _Carefully_."

Hawke grinned - and that was grin was going to be a permanent fixture, wasn't it? The grin and the coyness. He wondered what he had gotten into. "I'd watch me, too, after all."

With a scoff, he turned away, prepared to continue looking for these slavers across the town if Hawke said they were there. It was another way to test how truthful the mage was being.

"Oh, can I get a name? I'm guessing it's not _actually_ Broody."

The dwarf... He clenched his teeth and gave Varric a glare, looking over his shoulder at the mage.

"... Leto," he muttered. "My name is Leto."

 

**Author's Note:**

> I... have no reason or excuse. I just did it. 
> 
> Leto (who isn't even "Fenris"; he's got dark hair in a ponytail and no tattoos, no special abilities) is wary of magic because of what Danarius did to his home and his mother. Varania's used to a lifestyle more similar to Bethany. And then on the other end, there's Hawke, who's sister and dad were killed in a "magic raid" (think Salam Witch Trials), who's been on the run with Carver for a handful of years now, living in ~~"servitude"~~ slavery by a power-hungry unnamed _"and if you complain or disobey we'll send for Templars for the mage and nobody will believe that you've been working for me."_ It's kind of a mess but it's interesting to think about.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~Imagine Fenris having to go help Anders to get those Deep Roads map. _"You want me to help you do_ what. _"_~~
> 
>  
> 
> I do not own _Dragon Age_. Thanks for reading!


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